


Memories Made

by alecdvnpt



Series: The Lightwood-Bane Chronicles [4]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Anger, Drama, Family, Fluff, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, Short Stories, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-30 11:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6421660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alecdvnpt/pseuds/alecdvnpt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories about the Lightwood-Bane family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Training

“Shoulders down, elbow up.” Alec’s voice was stern as he circled the room. His eyes were locked on his two sons as they mounted their bows. Alec knew better than anyone how hard he was pushing them but these were his sons; if he was going to train them, it wasn’t going to be a half-hearted effort – not if doing could mean the difference between life and death. They had asked to be trained so he was going to make sure that they were trained to the very best of their ability.

The training room had been specifically prepared for them. It was a circular room with random targets spaced throughout the walls and domed ceiling. On the occasions that Magnus joined them, he would use his magic to move the targets.

After a gruelling three hours of non-stop training, both Rafe and Max collapsed to the floor, the clang of their discarded bows reverberating throughout the room.

“Dad,” Max whined as he laid spread-eagle on the ground. “I’m hungry–” he twisted to share a look with his brother, who nodded, “We’re hungry.”

Alec smiled. He shook his head and held out his hands, pulling Rafe and Max to their feet. “Last round – I promise. Then we can go get hotdogs.”

Rafe and Max both perked up at the mention of street food.

“And ice cream?” Rafe added eagerly.

Alec studied his fingernails as he moved to the lonely black stereo sitting by the door. “Ten or more gold – each,” he said, earning him a chorus of groans.

“Five,” Max held out his hand with a grin.

Alec shrugged. “Then you get to try that cake Aunt Isabelle baked.” He made a face as he said it, which Max and Rafe both mirrored. “Now come on, you’re not the only one who’s hungry.”

Max rolled his eyes and waved his hand. White sparks instantly refilling both their quivers. He and Rafe bumped fists and then took their positions at the centre of the room: back to back, bows raised. Alec pressed play, shattering the silence of the room with loud and incessant noise.

“Go,” Alec bellowed loudly over the screeching.

Rafe and Max darted around the room, letting their arrows fly as they circled each other.

Twenty minutes later, Alec heard the door open and close behind him.

“What _is_ that noise? It sounds like someone’s trying to bathe a demon in a pool of rose-scented holy water,” Jace cried out.

“Training.” Alec said plainly, not removing his eyes from his children. “Watch your feet, Rafe.”

“How can anyone concentrate with this thing blaring at them.” Jace made a face and poked the tiny radio, and it only seemed to get louder.

“They can’t – that’s the whole point.” Alec finally turned his head to face his _parabatai_. “What are you still doing here? I thought you and Clary were supposed to leave for Idris hours ago.”

Jace shrugged. “There was some kind of werewolfy kerfuffle. Maia requested the head of the Institute.”

Alec raised a brow but continued to study Max and Rafe’s performance. “And you didn’t insist on going with her? That’s a first.”

“I told Maia I’d skin her boyfriend and use him as a throw rug if anything happened to her. I figure that’s enough of an incentive,” Jace said, grinning. He squatted as a wayward arrow flew right through where his head previously was.

“Sorry, Uncle Jace,” Max yelled.

Jace popped back up and turned around to see the arrow firmly embedded in the centre of the target right behind him. He whistled, impressed.

“Don’t memorise where the targets are,” Alec said loudly. “Use your senses – your eyes.”

Jace moved to Alec’s side. “Where’s Magnus? It’s Thursday. He’s usually here on Thursdays.”

“Last minute client,” Alec said. “Had to pay a house call in the Hamptons.”

“I’ll never understand mundanes.”

Alec snorted in agreement.

Jace’s phone trilled in his hand. He tapped the screen to bring up the message and groaned. “Time to go. Remind me why I took this job.”

“You like the attention,” Alec replied easily, “and telling people what to do.”

Jace made a face. “You make me sound like such a terrible person.”

Alec grinned. “I say it with the utmost love and respect – you know that.”

Jace shouldered him on his way out.

“Five more minutes,” Alec announced over the noise. He didn’t know why he bothered eyeing the clock on the wall. It stopped working when Rafe accidentally shot it with a crossbow. That had been months ago.

Alec cocked his head when Max took a strange stance and shot his arrow straight up towards the ceiling. His hands glowed white and when he snapped his fingers, the single arrow became five, each with it’s own target. Alec couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Hey that’s cheating,” Rafe complained.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it!” Max cried out right before he tripped over his own feet. He tucked into a roll and recovered gracefully before sticking out his tongue at his brother.

Alec swallowed his laughter, unsure if that was Isabelle’s or Magnus’ influence he was seeing in his son.


	2. Julienne

 

“Papa, look!” 

“Daddy!”

Alec turned, placing his book on the counter just in time as his four year old came barrelling into the kitchen, crashing into his legs. Rafe followed a step behind Max and ran to Magnus’ side with his hands covering his forehead.

“What? What happened?” Alec narrowed his eyes in suspicion at his two children.

“Daddy, Rafe’s eyebrows felled off!” Max squeaked. He pulled away and held out two black caterpillar-looking bunches of hair in his hands.

Rafe grinned and dropped his hands. Smooth, olive skin now covered the patches where his eyebrows used to be. Alec covered his cough with a laugh.

“What happened to your eyebrows?” asked Magnus curiously, his head cocked to the side in amusement. He turned the stove down to low, wiped his hands clean on a towel, and then bent down to his knees. He took Rafe by the chin and turned the boy’s head from side to side. “Huh.”

Alec simply sighed and ruffled Max’s dark hair with his fingers. “How exactly did your brother’s eyebrows fall off?”

Max buried his face into Alec’s jeans.

“Aunt Izzy says she plucks and tw– twee–,” Rafe made a face then kept going, “she does something to her eyebrows to look make them look pretty. I pulled on Maxy's and nothing happened. But when Maxy did it, it all came off!” Rafe was almost bouncing with excitement.

Alec let out a slow breath and looked up to the ceiling as he sent up a prayer for patience. “Remind me to have a few words with your Aunt Izzy.”

“Well,” Magnus said. He held out his hand to Max, who deposited the two caterpillars into his palm, and then turned to Rafe. “For one thing, it’s never a good idea to be groomed by a four-year-old. They usually have a terrible sense of style.” Magnus winked at Max, who smiled back. “But for now, let’s put these back, shall we?” He patted the eyebrows back into place, nudging them around with his fingers until they were the correct shape. “There,” Magnus said, patting Rafe on the cheek as he stood. “You can pluck and tweeze them to your heart’s content when you’re older.”

Rafe grinned.

“Daddy,” Max twisted himself around Alec’s legs, hand outstretched pointing to the top of the refrigerator where the cookie jar sat. “Can I have a cookie?” he paused, turning wide eyes on both his parents and then added in a high-pitched squeak, “please?”

“No, but you can have this instead.” Alec dropped a cherry tomato into Max’s hand and smiled when Max took it without complaint. He turned to Rafe. “You want one?”

Rafe shook his head – he hated raw tomatoes – and zipped out of the kitchen with Max on his tail.

Alec shook his head as Magnus chuckled beside him, and returned to the recipe book on the counter. Magnus hummed as he stirred, the smell of chicken pie filling permeating the kitchen. Alec’s confusion grew as he read down the page, turning it over and then back, then over again and back again.

“What does _julienne_ mean?” Alec frowned, still flicking the page back and forth as if the answer would magically appear. 

“A Julian who’s spent too much time in France?” Magnus offered with a shrug.

Alec held out the page to Magnus. “How do you julienne a potato?”

“We know a Julian – though I can’t say for certain if he’s ever been to France.” Magnus cocked his head in thought. “I knew a smelly little man who owned a bakery in Munich in the eighteen nineties named Julian. Him I’m sure never went to France.”

“How exactly do you know that?” asked Alec, partly to humour his husband and partly out of curiosity.

“He hated the French,” Magnus told him. “I made the mistake of asking for a baguette and he attacked me with an armful of brötchen.”

“That doesn’t help us at all.” Alec snorted and fished out his phone, thumbing a quick message.

“Who are you texting?”

“Izzy.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Isabelle. Your sister – really?”

“Have you seen how many cook books she has?” Alec said with a roll of his eyes. “Mom and Dad used to buy them for her. I think they were hoping it would…eventually rub off on her. She knows a lot about cooking – she just can’t cook to save her life.”

Alec’s phoned dinged a second later.

“Huh.” Alec held out the phone to Magnus. “Cut into long, thin strips. Like match sticks.”

“Oh!” Magnus brightened. “I can do that.” He pointed a finger at one of the potatoes on the counter and it popped into neat, tiny strips on the plate.

“This was supposed to be a magic-free dinner,” Alec said pointedly.

Magnus grinned and leaned over to kiss Alec on the cheek. “Well then you can do the rest. Impress me with your culinary knife skills.”

Alec smirked as he pulled out a knife from the block and expertly twirled and flipped it around his hand like he would a dagger.

Magnus laughed as he turned back to his saucepan, giving the contents a quick stir. He held up the wooden spoon, blew on it and then swiped his pinky finger through the thick sauce and into his mouth. “Mmm,” he smiled in delight. He swiped another finger-full and held it out to Alec. “Want to taste?”


	3. Anger

**Anger**. His teeth clenched tight. His eyes narrowed onto the struggling vampire. His magic fed on the flames of his fury like kindling. His fist, outstretched before him glowed blue with magic, the power coursing through his body like rapids. The sound of Max’s cries cut through the roar of his own heart, fortifying his resolve.

 _My son,_ Magnus thought, the words burning in his mind. _He hurt my son._

The vampire continued to fight against his magical restraints, arms and legs outstretched, hanging against his will in mid-air, glaring at Magnus with dark, hateful eyes. Magnus didn’t care to be looked at in that way, so he clenched his fist tighter, eliciting a cry of pain from the young vampire.

“What’s your name,” Magnus spoke, his voice low and haunting. The youngling glared back. “Tell me your name,” he darkly then smiled, “or I’ll give you one.”

The vampire hissed in response.

“Shall I give you a celebrity name?” Magnus asked in amusement. “I think you look like a Table.” He tightened his fist.

The vampire threw his head back in pain, the only movement Magnus’ magic afforded him.

“I will not ask again.”

“Lachlan,” the vampire finally spat out.

Magnus relaxed his hand, giving his captive a slight reprieve. “Lachlan, good.” He held his hands behind his back and began to circle the vampire– _Lachlan, such a pretty name, what a pity,_ he thought–and studied his features for the first time. He took in Lachlan’s light blonde hair, chiselled jaw and green eyes. Physically, he looked to be in his early twenties with a well-built frame that suggested he’d been a sportsman of some kind in his former life. “That accent,” Magnus said curiously. “You’re not from here. Australian I would say.”

“Australian?”

Behind him, Alec entered with Max asleep in his arms. He glanced around the seedy motel room with distaste before levelling a bone-chilling glare at the strung up vampire.

Magnus’ roar of anger receded at the sight of his little boy. He reached out to brush his knuckles gently against Max’s purple cheeks and released a tired sigh.

“He cried himself to sleep,” Alec said and Magnus could hear something broken in his boyfriend’s voice. “I want to take him home.”

Magnus nodded. “I’ll send you home.” He raised his hand to open a portal when Alec caught it, turning his hands to entwine their fingers together.

“Together.” Alec said pointedly. “I’m not leaving you here with _him_.”

“The Clave can deal with him,” Magnus suggested, raising a brow at Lachlan.

Lachlan laughed acidly. “The child is a downworlder. The Clave won’t care what happens to it.”

“Ordinarily I’d agree with you,” Magnus said. “But Max’s grandfather also happens to be the _Inquisitor_ and he’s extraordinarily fond of his only grandchild.”

Alec snorted and moved to turn away when Lachlan spoke, his words directed at Magnus. “Look at you, warlock. Reducing yourself to nothing more than a pet–”

Magnus blinked and the dingy motel room was suddenly set ablaze with light from the seraph blade in Alec’s hand, it’s tip pressed against Lachlan’s throat.

“Speak to him like that in front of me again and the only thing being reduced here is you into ashes.”

Chuckling, Magnus pressed a chaste kiss below Alec’s ear and patted him on the shoulder. Alec retracted the weapon with a grunt, returning the room into its previously dimly lit state. Alec eyed Lachlan once more before turning his back.

Lachlan swore loudly in Alec’s direction but was silenced with a quick click of Magnus’ fingers. Lachlan turned his murderous gaze on him, baring his fangs when he wagged a finger at the vampire like an adult chastising a misbehaved child.

Magnus hummed in assent before speaking to Lachlan, a slight sing-song to his voice, “Now, why would a young vampire all the way from _Australia_ come to New York to steal our son?”

Lachlan turned away in silent defiance.

“What would a vampire even do with a three-year-old?” Alec  asked Magnus, his voice low so as to not wake Max.

Magnus frowned as he mulled the thought in his head. “Yes what _would_ a vampire want with a young warlock,” he said to Lachlan. Magnus’ unease grew when Lachlan looked at him blankly. “You don’t even know, do you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of an intro to a future fic that I’m planning to write, though whether that’ll ever see the light of day remains to be seen.


End file.
